Of her finesse with a sword, Sion had been aware: it is, perhaps, no mistake that Arturia Pendragon became known as Reclamation Agent Saber, a testament to the way she wields her blade, bursting forth in an elegant (merciless) drive of motion which sees the Director freed of his captor in an instant.
That the assailant who had, in brief, held the Director immobilized should have crumpled gracelessly to the ground in the aftermath of a single strike is in no way surprising, but the fact that he—a man five feet and nine inches in height—should have been so easily hauled back, towed inside by Saber's hand is--...
Might, beyond that which Sion had expected. Saber is strong, despite all minor annoyances, and Sion's heart skips a beat as his vision blurs, and Saber's hair seems to unfurl into a lengthier fall of cornflower blond—
(And he is in an alleyway, brought to kneel by injury as rain pounds down. He'd made a grievous mistake, thinking he had properly incapacitated one of his attackers, his error made in kindness capitalized upon in the moment when the man had risen, taking advantage of Sion's blindspot.
Landing in a perfect dismount between Sion and his assailant is someone trusted, someone beloved, a woman who wielded a blaze twice her size with ease, the sword now resting before Sion as a shield.
Smiling with a shake of his head, the woman's name falls from his lips in thanks--... )
—before Sion rises to his feet, willing his eyes to refocus as he banishes the waking dream from mind. ]
Saber--! You'll not do this alone.
[ It his his turn, now, to take on the role of a shield, a barrier of light (the Director's doing) glimmering to life around the storefront to stand as a bulwark against any other would-be kidnappers. In the absence of gunfire, it is clear that he'd been meant to be taken alive, unharmed save for the chemical which he'd made the mistake of inhaling. But dizzy though he may be, he stands still, his body acting as conduit for the programmable matter which keeps all within the boutique safe.
(At least, for now.) ]
My friends... [ His speech is slow, more sluggish than he would like it to be, but still, he turns to the shop-owner and her employees. ] ...is there a back entryway?
[ If so, it would be best to secure it—who knows where the accomplices have dispersed to, after all. ]
no subject
Of her finesse with a sword, Sion had been aware: it is, perhaps, no mistake that Arturia Pendragon became known as Reclamation Agent Saber, a testament to the way she wields her blade, bursting forth in an elegant (merciless) drive of motion which sees the Director freed of his captor in an instant.
That the assailant who had, in brief, held the Director immobilized should have crumpled gracelessly to the ground in the aftermath of a single strike is in no way surprising, but the fact that he—a man five feet and nine inches in height—should have been so easily hauled back, towed inside by Saber's hand is--...
Might, beyond that which Sion had expected. Saber is strong, despite all minor annoyances, and Sion's heart skips a beat as his vision blurs, and Saber's hair seems to unfurl into a lengthier fall of cornflower blond—
(And he is in an alleyway, brought to kneel by injury as rain pounds down. He'd made a grievous mistake, thinking he had properly incapacitated one of his attackers, his error made in kindness capitalized upon in the moment when the man had risen, taking advantage of Sion's blindspot.
"Kɪsʜɪsʜɪ, ᴛʜɪs ɪsɴ'ᴛ ᴀ ᴋɪᴅ's ɢᴀᴍᴇ, ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ʙᴏʏ. Tʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇғɪᴇʟᴅ. Dᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪɴᴀʟ ʙʟᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ?" the man says, picking up his fallen dagger, continuing on, "Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴇғғᴏʀᴛ. Nᴏᴡ ʟᴇᴛ's sᴇᴇ ʜᴏᴡ I'ʟʟ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ..."
But Sion cannot move, nor can he wholly bring himself to regret not taking the assassin's life when he'd the chance. No one has to die.
And perhaps no one will.
"Hᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴛʀᴇɴᴅ...ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ sᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇɴ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴇɴ ʙʀᴀᴢᴇɴʟʏ? Hᴏᴡ ᴅᴀʀɪɴɢ, ɪsɴ'ᴛ ɪᴛ?"
Landing in a perfect dismount between Sion and his assailant is someone trusted, someone beloved, a woman who wielded a blaze twice her size with ease, the sword now resting before Sion as a shield.
"Iɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀsᴇ, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ. Tʜɪs ʟᴀᴅʏ sʜᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ."
Smiling with a shake of his head, the woman's name falls from his lips in thanks--... )
—before Sion rises to his feet, willing his eyes to refocus as he banishes the waking dream from mind. ]
Saber--! You'll not do this alone.
[ It his his turn, now, to take on the role of a shield, a barrier of light (the Director's doing) glimmering to life around the storefront to stand as a bulwark against any other would-be kidnappers. In the absence of gunfire, it is clear that he'd been meant to be taken alive, unharmed save for the chemical which he'd made the mistake of inhaling. But dizzy though he may be, he stands still, his body acting as conduit for the programmable matter which keeps all within the boutique safe.
(At least, for now.) ]
My friends... [ His speech is slow, more sluggish than he would like it to be, but still, he turns to the shop-owner and her employees. ] ...is there a back entryway?
[ If so, it would be best to secure it—who knows where the accomplices have dispersed to, after all. ]